My dad is 6’9’’. Do you understand how tall that is? Let me give you a hint: I don’t fear death.
My dad has a black and grey beard. He doesn’t have a jolly look in his eyes. He has a sleep apnea machine that looks like a vaguely planned and poorly constructed bomb. Every time we go to the airport, he gets randomly selected.
When he was in high school, he was captain of the chess team.
When he was in high school he made a movie called “Zap of the Zombie” on Super 8 film. He used the free turkey giblets from the grocery store for special effects.
When he was in college, he once pretended to be the professor and no one questioned it.
When he was in college, he ran for class president and the school board wouldn’t let him use the campaign name “Mad Dog” because they knew he would become too powerful for them to control. For his campaign, he was granted a blank billboard, which he used to display a dystopian style piece of art. Bozo the Clown is in the foreground, hiding from a pursuing mob in the distance. He is looking at his arm and saying “Me… A Machine!” The arm has wires coming out of it, so you know it’s a robot arm.
My dad could have gone to Harvard Law School on the recommendation of his philosophy professor, but procrastinated on applying. Now he’s an economist and tells me how all the lawyers at his work wear lame ties and all the economists wear fun ties. I told my former editor Denise this story and she got upset.
He used to help me write my essays, which was invariably a disaster. This man has been writing economics essays for twenty plus years and was keenly aware of how poorly structured my report on eels was.
When I was a baby, I vomited directly into his shirt at a grocery store. My mom couldn’t see the vomit because it was all under the shirt and she did not know what was up. This one is more about me but the dad fact is that he maintained relative composure.
When I was a kid, we went to one of those mountain resorts that artificially makes its own snow. My dad’s feet are too big for the skis and my mom is bad at skiing so it was my job to look after my younger brother. We took what we thought was a short cut to the bunny slope but was in actuality the lift to the black diamond slope. My dad thought I did it on purpose. My fourth grade communication skills couldn’t convince him otherwise. Dad, are you reading this? I did not go up the black diamond slope on purpose. That would be a death wish! I was putting together an overnight survival plan up there when the mountain ranger guy came by and gave us a ride down.
When I was a kid, my mom was in the hospital on Valentine’s Day, and we brought her pink carnations. In retrospect, this was so gauche. Carnations? Your wife’s in the hospital, man. Spring for half a dozen roses.
He likes The Cranberries.
He likes Larry David. Sometimes we’ll watch Curb Your Enthusiasm together and I’ll notice him acting extra fed up with the world afterwards.
He doesn’t tell dad-jokes.
He loves me and my brother equally, which really means he loves me more. My brother can multiply two digit numbers in his head and I spent grades 6 -12 mouthing off and hiding my progress reports.
He used to show me he loved me by sending me boxes of vitamins and supplements that he would buy on the internet. I didn’t take most of them and now he doesn’t send them any more. I know I probably ruined our relationship with my negligence but you need to understand how big and gross a multivitamin actually is. Those little pink ones you buy at the grocery store aren’t the real deal. The real deal is the size of something you’d give a horse with a urinary tract infection. I don’t like the way they smell. I’m sorry, dad.
Charlotte Raskovich is the Humor Editor for The Cavalier Daily.
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